I Wish I Could Stop
by She's So High
Summary: Spike is gone and Faye's alone. Where will she go now? How does she really feel about him? Just a little angsty one shot in Faye's pov. Please R&R.


I Wish I Could Stop

By Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, the universe, the show, or anything else related to CB. So please, don't sue.

Warnings: slight language and over all bleakness

A/N: Well, this came out of nowhere, or rather, a dark mood and a need to write something without a happy ending. This really has no ending, but I don't think I'll continue it or anything. It's just a one shot of what Faye's thinking after Spike has left. As always, please read and enjoy.

  
  


Where do I go from here? Where do I go now? It's not like I have a home. The only home I may have had was with him and now it's . . . it's gone. God it's crazy to even think that. But there's no way he survived. I suppose he may have. If anyone could survive something like that he could. But it felt different this time. He knew he wasn't going to make it out alive. I don't even know if he wanted to.

What a bastard! He didn't have to run off on some kamikaze mission to find out if he was really alive. We could have helped him do it. *I* could have helped him do it. Then again maybe not. It's been made evident enough times that I'm not really good for anything. Sure I can haul in a bounty, but what do I do with it? A whole lotta nothing. Which pretty much sums me up right now. 

I'm a whole lotta nothing.

I guess it sounds rather defeatist of me. A sharp contrast to my usual cocky, devil-may-care, go-fuck-yourself attitude. But I realized something when my memories came back. I don't belong here. I belong to a past that's long gone. A past that left me without looking back. I belong with my old friends at my old home, not here on this cold shell of a space vessel with no one except a cynical old man left to keep me company.

I don't have a place here. I never did. I tried to make one. I tried hard. But every time something happened. Every time my building block, the person who gave me a reason to want to stay here, crumbled and sent me tumbling down with it. They should have let me die. I don't know why they subjected me to that stupid cryogenic state. I wish they hadn't. I wish . . . I wish I was dead.

I wonder if this is how they felt. The two men in my life who decided to run out and meet death head-on, knowing they wouldn't come back. I wonder if they had nothing left to live for. With Spike, Julia was gone and all he wanted were some answers. Even if it meant following the man who had them into hell.

Same with Gren. Vicious pretty much screwed him over and he wanted to know why. He didn't care about dying. He didn't have anyone who'd care either. Anyone except me. Which was pretty stupid considering I barely knew him. But there was something about him, something that a part of me molded to and didn't want to let go. 

And yet he left. He said so many things, saw right through my completely wasted exterior and told me things I didn't want to hear. But I needed to hear them. Because they were true. I left because I was scared that I'd get abandoned. I really wish I'd never listened to him. Because if I'd avoided getting emotionally attached I wouldn't be hurting so much right now.

The funniest thing about this whole damn situation is that I can't stop crying. I don't usually cry. I mean, I do. It's normal for women sometimes, guys too, I guess. Hormones and certain events in my past have defnitely reduced *me* to tears. But after a few minutes I bounce back and I'm that annoying shrew woman Faye Valentine once more. 

Now though . . . now I just can't stop. I can taste my own tears, the salt is almost acrid. I can feel them racing down my cheeks, which are soaked and probably red and splotchy. My whole body is shaking and I can't breathe. And it's all because I'll never see him again. Ever.

Why? Why did he do it? He told me but I still don't understand. I took his stupid advice. I could have ridden off into the sunset like the traditional tragic heroin without a glance back. I tried. But then I talked to her and I realized that we both had to face our pasts. Of course, in the end I was just going to leave without saying a word but he saw me and I had to tell him.

Tell him that Julia was waiting.

And then I covered his ass while he raced off like a prince on a horse to his princess, leaving a besotted and totally ignored peasant girl behind, regretting ever opening her damnably big mouth. He came back briefly, spilled his guts, told me a condensed version of his life story, and turned to leave.

All I could do was point a gun at his head. That was all. I couldn't shoot him, I couldn't tell him how I felt. All I could do was try, try to get him to understand that my memory was back, there was no home left for me on earth, and he was it now. *He* was my home.

He may have picked up on the message, but all he said in return was that he needed to find out if he was alive. He turned and I fired off round after round, crying like I've never, ever cried before, and he never even flinched. His back was stiff and rigid and that's the last I saw of him. The last I'll ever see of him.

Oh God he's gone. I can't . . . I can't believe it. He's lived through so much. He's been beat up, blown up and shot and the worst of the inuries only ended up with him in traction for nearly two weeks. He's like a freaking cat with nine lives. Only, I don't know how many he lost before, and who knows how many he's lost since I've known him? 

I suppose that it makes sense. Cats don't live forever. Nine lives only last so long. Maybe this is his last. Maybe he really is gone. Gone off to be in Julia in some paradise. Gone to be in a real world, instead of trapped in a perpetual dream. Maybe he found out what he wanted.

Who am I then? Who am I to complain if he's finally happy? If he has Julia now, in heaven or in some reincarnated form or whatever, then why am I being so selfish? Why do I care that I've got no family, no home, no future whatsoever? Oh shit what am I going to do?

I can't live without him. I just can't. And watch, I'll end up just like him. I'll pair up with some steroid enhanced, ex-ISSP officer chick with a wooden leg and I'll end up getting saddled with someone just like me and I'll tell them all this stuff and then act the hypocrite and not take my own advice. 

I'm going to become some cynical bitch with a chip on her shoulder and an inability to love anyone except for him. And no one will like me except the one person I'll ignore the most and I'll never know it and I'll run off and die and leave them empty and hurting and still crying hours later.

I'm so alone. Anyone who knew me from all those years ago is either dead or a mummy in a wheelchair. Ed and even the stupid dog are gone. Spike . . . Gren . . . I have Jet but I don't know if I can stay and let it just be the both of us. There will be that constant reminder or what had happened. Of what was. Of what could have been . . . would have been.

Besides, I've got something to find out. One day soon I'll know just what the hype is. I'll know why every man I've loved has run off and welcomed death with open arms. And when that day comes, maybe I'll see them all again. But until then, I'll miss them. 

And only God knows when I'll stop crying. I wish . . . I wish I could stop.

  
  


~*~

  
  


A/N: So, what did you think? I know it's pretty depressing, but it befits my mood quite well. Anyway, just to clarify, I happen to be a very proud supporter of the Spike Lives movement (which implies that Spike passed out from blood loss and DID NOT DIE!!!) but I thought it'd be a change to write this story. Hope you liked it. As always, please R&R. ^.~


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